


The prevalence of allopreening among angels and demons

by justaphage



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: First Time, Incorporeal Sex, M/M, Podfic Welcome, Post-Canon, Wing Grooming, author spend too much time reading about birds and not enough writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-08 06:06:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19864744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justaphage/pseuds/justaphage
Summary: Allopreening, the preening of another individual, is not all that common in birds. Only certain species do it, to appease or bond with their flock or mate. Among angels or demons, it was even less common, neither being a particularly social group.Between an angel and a demon, allopreening was unheard of. No one ever heard of it, because it had never happened—until tonight.





	The prevalence of allopreening among angels and demons

**Author's Note:**

> This was started in response to a kink meme prompt, but in my classic fashion, I started the story too far back from the smut, got too attached to the idea that angels and demons don't have genitalia most of the time and also can have non-corporeal sex and there was no way the prompt was happening. Having then already written over a thousand words and read way to much on the social aspects of preening in birds, I instead produced this. I've also decided that angels/demons have powder down rather than preen oil glands bc it amuses me that if they run into something they leave feather dust images.
> 
> Thank you to Dintay for the beta on this. I apologize for not incorporating some of the good suggestions because I agonized for so long I decided I needed to post or I never would. Thus all remaining mistakes are 100% on me.

While Adam had returned many things to the way they had been, including the bookshop, Aziraphale and Crowley had no way of knowing this. And so the bus miraculously drove to Crowley's flat and did not go at all past the formerly burnt-out bookshop. 

The two would not realize the shop had been returned until they noticed other small changes the next morning and decided to have a look around just to check. The sight of the intact bookshop would bring both angel and demon to tears, though for quite different reasons. (Crowley would insist this would not have happened had he been in his own body. This was not true). 

But that next day is not the purpose of this story. Instead, we focus on what that lack of knowledge allowed to happen the night the world did not end.

xXx

"Well. I'm exhausted," Crowley declared as he entered the flat and headed straight for his bedroom without bothering to turn on any lights. "Don't suppose you want to take up sleeping for tonight? Can’t wait to get to it myself"

Aziraphale followed as closely as he could so as not to trip on anything in the dark, unfamiliar hallway, although he had been slightly detained by the unavoidable need to hang his coat at the door. It was in excellent condition after all, with Crowley's assistance, and he would not be just dropping it as he walked like Crowley had done with his. 

"No, I don't think—” he started as he reached the door frame of Crowley's bedroom. "That is to say—I think—rather, it would be a good idea for one of us to stay up. Keep watch and all. Never know what—well when they might come for us, or whatever Agnes Nutter predicted."

"Suit yourself, I wanted to stretch out anyway." Crowley shrugged.

Crowley's bed was, Aziraphale was fairly certain, the largest size humans manufactured. He was just thinking they both could have easily stretched out and not even come close to touching, when Crowley disrobed as rapidly as anyone has ever managed without demonic intervention and allowed his wings to manifest into their dimension. He then collapsed face first with all six limbs outstretched onto the bed.

Laying in this fashion, Aziraphale had to concede, it was true that Crowley needed the whole bed to stretch out. In fact, the tips of his wings were sticking well out over the edge. It did take some minute energy to keep them hidden away, although Aziraphale had been doing it for so long that he hardly ever thought about it and it _could_ be maintained while unconscious if one willed it so. But it had been quite a day; he could see the value in completely letting go. Aziraphale was here to keep watch after all, and those who might come looking for them were already well aware of their true forms.

"Do you plan to stand in the dark and stare at me all night?" Crowley's voice was muffled by the fact that he had not bothered to turn his face out of the pillow to say it.

"No, I uh..." Aziraphale cast about for something to do with himself or even a chair so he could sit watching the door like they did in spy novels. In what dim light was filtering in from the window, a mixture of moonlight and street light, it was quite obvious there was nothing besides the opulent bed and a dresser. "I don't suppose you have anything to read?"

"Just a copy of the Daily Mail from last Thursday, if that interests you." 

"Thank you, but no." Although he knew full well that Crowley had been messing with that offer, it was still impossible for him to not sound apologetic when turning it down, it was in his nature.

"At least sit down," Crowley snapped, this time turning his head to look at him, golden eyes catching the light, "you're making the air in here all...anxious."

"Oh, well." There was still nothing but the bed, though he supposed he might have found a chair in another room. That probably would have led to some crashing about, given he did not know precisely where to find them. And, while he could not have laid down on the bed without disturbing Crowley, there was space to sit. So he did, on the edge of the bed just below Crowley’s outstretched right wing. 

"Thank you," Aziraphale said, and meant it about a great deal more than letting him sit on the bed, but now was not the time to talk about those things.

"No, thank you," Crowley replied. although his tone was quite sarcastic. He too meant it about a great deal more than Aziraphale ceasing his hovering, but was certainly not going to say it. Instead he turned his face back into the pillow and tried to slip out of consciousness as fast as possible. 

Aziraphale stared at the door in the dim light. He was aware there was little point in it, as any of their foes could have appeared anywhere in the world they pleased, including smack behind him, regardless of where he sat. But then, there was little else to be looking at aside from his companion who had specifically complained about being stared at all night and was snoring.

Actually, now that Aziraphale thought on it, he had complained about the _standing and staring_ and then told him to sit, so it perhaps it was not the looking but the hovering that disturbed him. And so Aziraphale looked.

It was a rare sight to see Crowley still. There was normally a constant wiggle to him, an inability to sit still. Now the only movement was the rise and fall of his back with his breath. Angels and therefore demons did not need to breathe, but then they didn't need to sleep either, so perhaps it made sense that the corporeal form took over in sleep and did all the things humans do. Or perhaps Crowley just thought the snoring was funny. It was hard to say with him.

Bare arms and legs wound across the sheets in memory of his snake form, indeed a few scales were creeping over his bare skin while he wasn't conscious to keep them hidden, tinting his ankles and the place where his wings met his back.

His wings themselves were quite like Aziraphale's own, aside from the color. He had barely seen them since the garden all those millennia ago. Neither of them showed them much after the early days. Frankly, it frightened the humans, and Aziraphale prefered to leave that task to others. 

The size of the bed and the emptiness of the room did lend itself nicely to unfurling them. Perhaps, Crowley did this often. It _had_ felt good to stretch them out, be truly himself when Crowley had stopped time before Satan came. It was too close at his place to do that; he'd knock over a bookshelf to be sure. He should try to make time to stretch his wings though, maybe preen a bit more often, he could use it. Crowley could use it too, actually, now that he looked.

Now, angels are not birds—not at all related, but their feathers are much the same. Scientists these days would call that "convergent evolution" (if they could get past the existence of angels in the first place), but God had called it "if it ain't broke, don't fix it" and reused the design. Preening is much less important to angels than it is to birds. Angels do not get parasites, and neither insulation nor the aerodynamics of flight are of particular concern when you can change the universe with a snap of your fingers. 

The other reasons that birds preened though, Aziraphale was less sure about. It was a common displacement activity, something birds did to soothe themselves when they could not perform some other action they dearly needed to do. Certainly there was no denying the satisfaction of running your fingers down a vane, coaxing the barbs to come together to form a single, unbroken curve. 

And so, with nothing he could do about Heaven and Hell and whenever the might come for them, Aziraphale reached out and brought the nearest of Crowley's feathers together in just that way. There was no immediate effect to this. The slide of feather on skin is barely audible even in a quiet room. Feathers are just keratin. Crowley could not hear or feel what he had done and slept on.

The single perfect feather stood out against the disheveled others. A little bit of order created from chaos. Looking at it, Aziraphale found that the temptation to continue what he started was near irresistible. 

He reached for the next feather, slid his fingers along the vane, watched it come together, and then the next and the next. When he did his own feathers, Aziraphale mostly used his whole hand, breaking up the powder down beneath, and working it through with feathers in the space between each of the fingers like a comb. It went faster and the feather dust helped smooth things out, but would also catch more feathers to pull at the skin and might wake Crowley. So now for now, he went one at a time. A rhythm formed leaning forward, sliding back as gently as possible, until every feather in his reach was sleek and perfect. 

With that bit done, it would of course be ridiculous to leave the rest. Aziraphale pushed his shoes off with his toes and pulled his legs up onto the bed so he could move himself in closer to reach the base of Crowley's wings.

Aziraphale knew enough about beds to know not to put his shoes on them, but, having never hung around one that someone was actually sleeping in, did not know the time honored process of freezing and waiting to see if one's movement had jostled the sleeping person awake before proceeding with any surreptitious activities. As such, he was not aware that the subject of his attention was awake and continued gently rearranging feathers until— 

“Angel.” 

The angel in question froze, his fingers halfway down an inky secondary.

“Are you...preening me?” Crowley still had not moved, but his voice cut through the still room, unclouded by any trace of sleep.

Aziraphale released the feather and snatched his hand back as if it burned. “I...yes, I—” There was no avoiding the truth of it now. He knew it was an odd thing to be occupying himself with, but then it had been so satisfying. “That is, they looked like they needed it and I wasn’t doing anything else, so…”

“So do yours,” Crowley retorted.

It might have been an invitation to leave him alone and perhaps mind his own wing business, or it might have been an automatic defense to having any point of his appearance remarked upon. Aziraphale suspected the latter, but knew suggesting that would not end well. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No, its nnnnn—” Crowley stuttered over actually admitting anything and landed instead on a flat, “it’s fine.’

“Okay,” Aziraphale responded, keeping his tone matched to his companion’s. 

“Should do it properly though,” Crowley mumbled into his pillow.

“Beg pardon?” 

Aziraphale had understood him of course. He had excellent hearing and was well practiced at deciphering Crowley’s speech while inebriated, which was not all that different from half asleep and muffled by a pillow. He wanted to be sure though. 

At face value, it sounded like a criticism, because of course Crowley would hide an invitation to come closer, to deeper intimacy in an insult. It left an out so he wasn’t vulnerable when Aziraphale turned him down. Something he had done much too often recently.

“I said,” Crowey turned his face out of the pillow for clarity, “if you insist on preening me you should do it properly. Or don’t angels—” His pitch was climbing, working up to more defensive jabs.

“Yes, I know how to do it.” Azirphale cut him off before he could get worked up. He slid in closer and laid a hand on Crowley’s back between his wings. The patch of scales there was now larger than his hand, smooth and cool beneath it. “Relax, try to go back to sleep”

“Mmph,” Crowley replied, but he stretched and settled back in, eyes closed.

This seemed invitation enough to continue. Aziraphale dug his hands in properly this time at the scapulars. The powder down broke up easily and coated his fingers as he raked them through the feathers below. Unconcerned now with waking Crowley, he let his knuckles graze the skin beneath at the top of the next stroke.

“Nnnnn,” Crowley groaned and his wings fluttered involuntarily.

Aziraphale stopped his progress, but didn’t pull his hands from his feathers. “Alright?”

“Yeah just—ssssensitive”

“Oh.” That wasn’t ‘stop’ although it was _something._ Aziraphale resumed his progress, making long strokes from quill to tip, culling those half-loose feathers he found and placing them beside him on the bed.

All the while, Crowley kept making _noises_ and while he managed to keep his wings still, the rest of him stretched and squirmed. It made Aziraphale want to shiver too, tingling from his belly down to his toes. 

Another soft moan—his heart was pounding. He should say something, not keep doing keep doing this when his mind was racing to so many things beyond wings and feathers. 

“Crowley, I—” His voice shook and cracked as he searched for how to explain.

There was a rush of air as Crowley snapped his wings in so he could flip over, then snapped back out again beneath him. His eyes had gone completely golden, the pupils so wide the were near round and they stared down Aziraphale begging him, or maybe daring him to do _something._

“You’ve messed up all my work.” It was small, and not at all what he meant come out of his mouth, although it was true.

“Aziraphale for the love of—” Crowley hissed through gritted teeth.

“I know! I—” He found he had too much and too little to say. What could make up for all the lies and cruel things he had said when he was scared before? What could encompass six thousand years of a bond so deep it crossed the biggest schism in history? So Aziraphale took a page from the humans’ book, planted his hands on either side of Crowley’s head, leaned down, and kissed him.

There was a tentative moment, unpracticed and unsure, but then Crowley was kissing back and it all came so naturally. His arms wrapped around Aziraphale’s back and pulled him down. Their bodies pressed together and their legs tangled. Crowley’s hands slipped down to his waist, seeking skin and giving him space to let his wings out. He stretched them, gleaming white in the moonlight, and it was every bit as wonderful as earlier and more. 

Crowley slipped his tongue between Aziraphale’s lips and it was utterly foreign yet perfect. Every inch of his body was crying out for more, to be closer when it seemed there was no space at all between their physical bodies.

“Do you think we could?” Aziraphale pulled back just barely breaking the kiss, practically speaking into Crowely’s mouth “Not how humans do it, like—” He paused, not really knowing if demons even did such things, and aside there was still the danger of their opposing natures. He all but prayed God had not taken this from them too. “Like our kind do it?”

“Doubt anyone’s ever tried before. Only one way to find out” Crowely smiled with an unusual sweetness at first but it grew suggestive as their gaze held. “Come here, angel.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes and reached out for Crowley, not here but everywhere, a soul searching for a soul. They came together and it did not burn, or it did burn, but in the most exquisite way. They were a fire that did not destroy, but brought light and warmth. It was not wrong, or dangerous. In fact Aziraphale was certain nothing had ever been more Right. The pleasure crashed over them in waves and rang in their ears like a bell, words they hadn’t yet managed to say aloud.

_I love you._

_Never leave again._

_I promise. I love you._

_I love you._

_I love you._

xXx

Allopreening, the preening of another individual, is not all that common in birds. Only certain species do it, to appease or bond with their flock or mate. Among angels or demons, it was even less common, neither being a particularly social group.

 _Between_ an angel and a demon, allopreening was unheard of. No one ever heard of it, because it had never happened—until tonight. 

And after tonight? Well, both angel and demon did agree it was quite _nice_ even if one was hesitant to say the word. So it would be a safe bet to say it would happen again.


End file.
